Telling Of Fishing Tales Tough

During the past two years I've had the pleasure of writing countless tales about Seminole County's lunker bass, jumbo specks and all types of fishing enthusiasts.

And though the assignment has been a joy, I must tell you that this will be my last column. Yes, fish fans, I'm leaving the paper to pursue other writing opportunities.

However, before I hang it up, I want to set the record straight. Indeed, there seems to be a growing misconception about fishing writers.

Apparently many of you think that getting paid to reel in jumbo bass is the sham job of all time. Well, your wrong shiner breath. The fact is that writing a fishing column is a grueling chore that requires considerable dedication, endurance and sacrifice.

Just ask my wife. Why, you can't believe all the mornings she had to boot me out of the sack and make me go fishing. On some days I was up as early as 10 a.m., and for a newspaper reporter, that's the crack of dawn.

''You can't let your readers down,'' Karen would holler as she chunked cold water in my face. ''Who knows, this time you might even catch a fish.''

Okay, so maybe I'm not be the best fisherman to ever pull on a pair of waders, but I'll tell you right now I've hooked my share of scaly critters out of the St. Johns River, Lake Monroe and the Wekiva River. In fact, just the other day I hauled in a stringer of hefty bass that I'm sure would have pushed the scales to an impressive total.

Unfortunatley, I put them in my bait bucket and the minnows gobbled them down before I could save them. It's strange, but not long ago I lost a couple of bluegills in a similiar way.

After I struggled to get them into the boat, I dropped them into my shirt pocket for safe keeping. But when I got home I couldn't find them, and it wasn't until my wife did the wash that the bugers came out of hiding.

Yep, I'm sure going to miss writing about bass the size of Buicks, but more than that I'm going to miss all the good folks I've met along the river. Easy going, down-to-earth people who invited me out to their places. Several of them, folks such as Leonard Harrell at Lemon Bluff Fish Camp and Dell Abernethy at the Osteen Bridge Fish Camp, even invited me back.

My hats off to all your river rats who love the water and the sun, and who take the time to share the real Florida with family and friends. And thanks, too, for sharing your stories and secret honey holes with me. And should anybody ask my whereabouts, just tell them I've gone fishing.